


A glorious enigma

by treadinglightly



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: Angst, Awkwardness, F/F, Nuclear Weapons, Pining, ghostbusting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-07 23:39:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7734235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treadinglightly/pseuds/treadinglightly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holtzmann bullies Erin into going to a strip bar. Angst ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Holtzmann can’t really deal with her feelings. So instead she puts all her crackling energy and confusion into building yet another one of her babies. This is way safer. Even though it’s pretty much insanely unstable, charged with crazy atoms just waiting to spin out of control and explode, even though it’s radiation and nuclear power and she’s just semi-sure it’s not gonna take out a decent chunk of New York, it is still _so much_ safer than directly addressing the disorienting storm of peculiar emotions raging inside her.  
  
And she’s damn well disoriented. She has never felt this smitten, this confused. This _distracted_.

There is a loud thump, and her latest invention shakes violently and then releases a massive puff of smoke. Holtzmann breaks into a sharp fit of coughs, jumps off from her stool, launches herself at the machine, fervently checking what the hell could’ve gone wrong _this time._

A minute later the door to her lab flies open and Abby and Erin storm inside, all frowns and horrification. Great, this is _just_ what she needs right now.  
  
“Holtz, what the hell was that, it’s all smoke in here! Are you okay?!” Abby waves her arms around wildly, with Erin’s following close behind her, squinting and coughing, her hand pressed over her mouth and Holtzmann thinks about the sheer perfection of _this_ _particular_ piece of machinery. She could never create anything quite like that. What a shame.  
  
She tears her eyes away, faces Abby.

“Bomb diggity!” she gives them thumbs up with both hands and her best reassuring grin, “We just had a bit of a lovers’ spat, ‘s all. She thinks she can’t do this. I insist she can. _Girls_ , right?”

Erin rolls her eyes and Abby sighs, hands perched on hips. Female wrath. The worst kind.

“What the heck has been going on with you lately,” Abby shakes her head, “Been blowing up stuff more than usual. Maybe you need to take one off. Hit the bars or something.”  
  
“Sounds like funsies. In fact, why don’t we all do that, huh?” Holtzmann pushes up her goggles, leans back against the still shaky machine, wipes her hands on her thighs. She is suddenly super self-conscious, aware of her dirty, sticky face, clothes covered in oil spots. She wishes she could hide under her workbench right now and the safe pile of blankets awaiting there. Or on the rooftop, ”We could, uh, all use some unwindin’, what with the recent semi-apocalypse and all. There’s this one badassical strip place in East Williamsburg _,_ are you ladies free tonight?”

As soon as she says that, she wishes she didn’t. That is yet another unsettling instance of her mouth babbling independently of her brain when faced with Erin’s unstettling presence in Holtzmann’s immediate proximity. Why the hell would she get herself into a club, bar or in fact _any_ percent-fueled situation with Erin? This cannot produce any satisfying results. She’s a mess as it is, there is no need for further vulnerability and awkwardness. To be more precise: she’s a hopeless idiot. Just like when she tried to resurrect her dead bunny in elementary school by applying electric stimulation to its brain and mom gave her hell for that. The fatality of the current predicament is further confirmed by the look of astonishment and slight horror on Erin’s face.

“ _Strip place_?” she echoes, those stupid big pretty eyes widening even more, looking like two coins now. Holtzmann blows up a loose strand of her hair and stares, clucking her tongue lightly. She’s allowed to, ain’t she? You are supposed to look at someone when they’re speaking to you – her mother always used to say that, berating Jillian for being permanently distracted. So you’re supposed to stare back, even if they’re looking at you like you’re a crude little weirdo. Which she probably is, despite her doctoral degree and obvious mad engineering genius (except for the recent string of small to medium-sized catastrophes, but that’s totally Erin’s fault). “Are you serious? Do you honestly think we would go to a-”

“Serious as a heart attack,” she deadpuns, cocking her head to one side. She already put forward the whole strip club idea, so she can’t really back out of it now. She nods towards Abby, “Dr. Yates kept me company there once already, didn’t ya dahling?”

Abby instantly goes red, and Erin turns to look at her, incredulous.

“Is that true?”

“We were supremely drunk,” Abby says in a voice a bit higher than usual.

“We just had a few moderately spiked shots, “Holtzmann corrects, lips stretching in a smug grin, “Nothin’ much. Abby here is a very economic drinker.”

“Traitor,” Abby snaps, but her eyes reveal she’s not really mad. She moves closer to the machine, which has managed to cool down already, and starts inspecting it like she’s searching for distraction from the topic, “But she’s right. I’m economic. And that strip club idea was a drinking dare, but it actually wasn’t half bad. They were pretty great dancers, weren’t they,” she straightens up and assumes a pensive expression, “Holtzy, do you remember that one in a bamboo skirt?”

“Mm, sure do,” Holtzmann slides her thumb and index finger down the sides of her chin, eyes flicking off into space nostalgically, “A truly _fine_ specimen.”

Erin’s cheeks flush bright red and Holtzmann eyes her again, smirking. This is safe, too. Like pulling girls’ braids in elementary school. She can do that. She’s great at that. Teasing, flirting, falling back on her jokes and charisma. Pushing down the nervousness and the unsetting intensity of what she’s feeling faced with the universe’s most glorious enigma that is Dr. Erin Gilbert, sanding it down with her signature winks. Making Erin blush, gasp, squirm. That’s all she can do anyway. Erin is way out of her league, both preference wise and for countless other reasons that are impossible to explain scientifically. Holtzmann is such a damn idiot for falling for a straight woman anyway, but that’s just her curse. Well, at least she can do _that_. There, that dignified little look and rosy flush. As good as Pringles.   

Naah… much better.

“I’m not going to a _strip bar_ ,” Erin repeats slowly, as if she wants to make sure they both understand her, “Apart from the whole female exploitation thing, I just simply find it disgusting.”  
  
“Ain’t no one being exploited there, cupcake. I talked to those gals, they’d feminist march for that. _For reals.”_

“Of course you _talked_ to them,” Erin rolls her eyes again, shifting on her feet. That’s the third time Holtzmann made her roll her eyes in five minutes. _Score_. “They will tell you anything you want to hear. For a good fat tip, that is.”

“Fascinating,” Holtzmann muses, cupping her chin and narrowing her eyes, “I’d bet my space sock collection that you were way more into pushin’ your comfort zone. Like leaving your teaching career to fight paranormal entities and such. Seems itty bitty more hardcore than a lil’ good ol’ striptease, doesn’t it? Or is it gonna make you feel _uncomfortable,_ Dr. Gilbert?” she narrows her eyes even further, giving Erin a challenging look.

Abby snorts a laugh and Erin puffs irritably.

“Fine! I’ll go,” she throws her hands up in the air in surrender, “But I won’t tip them! That’s a promise.”

“Sweet!” Holtzmann pumps her fist up into the air triumphantly, “All’s set then. Report the plan to Patty and Kevin, will ya. And get ready for tonight, ladies. It’s gonna be _legendary_ ,” she winks at each of them separately and then turns back to her miserable creation, frowning in thought, “Now, _where_ was I…”

She hears Erin sigh again and turn on her heels to head for the door. Behind her Abby says something about hoping Holtzmann won’t try to blow them up again – at least today – and follows Erin with a small smile. Holtzmann watches them leave out of the corner of her eye, wondering what the hell she’s just gotten herself into. But then again, maybe Erin will put on a cute little dress or something. That would be worth all the embarrassment in the world and all the useless temptation Holtzmann’s gonna suffer all evening. _Definitely_.


	2. Chapter 2

Holtzmann has just spent solid half an hour wondering what to wear and now she’s huffing in frustration, staring in the mirror at her wild hair and missing the good ol’ times when she simply _didn’t_ _give a fuck._ She’s pathetic anyway, thinking fixing her ‘do will change anything. She’s absurdly nervous and that’s making matters even worse. She’s never _nervous_. She stares at herself, in a dark red check shirt and the smallest bowtie she could find online, thinking whether to pat on some cologne or not. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why did she even orchestrate this whole evening in the first place…

She quits trying to tame her hair (obviously hopeless), tugs off the bowtie and snaps open the top two buttons of her shirt, rolls up the sleeves and turns on the balls of her feet and then she’s out of the bathroom and out of her small cluttered loft she doesn’t even know why she still owns. It’s not like she brings anyone over anyway and her real life is in their headquarters, in her fabulous little lab where magic happens and where she feels safe and useful. Here’s just empty and cold (radiation _less_ ) and doesn’t feel like home at all.

She runs her hand through her unruly hair once again, detesting her nervousness. Or maybe she should actually bring someone over tonight, why not. Maybe that would help her release some steam. Cute little something, someone safe and plain, non-confusing, someone available. She knows she can, remarkably easily, ‘cause for some reason beyond her understanding she’s never had problems getting laid, ladies seem to be orbiting around her like electrons around the nucleus, most likely wondering if she’s as wild and eccentric between the sheets as she is at the first glance.  She just hasn’t wanted to seek them out, hasn’t felt the need to, engineering being her only true lover and all. But now she’s been trapped and dissected, badly, by someone she knows she can’t have, so maybe a little distraction would do her good, some soft, sweet smelling flesh, some pliable, welcoming lips. She misses it, she does. She misses women. Determined, she waves over a taxi and gets inside, and they pull onto the busy, bustling city streets, as chaotic as her own mind.  


*  


She’s seated comfortably, arms stretched out over the back of a comfy leather couch, waiting for the rest of her crew to arrive. Girls are swaying in front of her, throwing her seductive looks, clearly unbothered by the fact she’s a woman, too. Probably they are used to all sorts of clientele around here. She lets her eyes follow the beautiful lines of their bodies, the soft mounts of their breasts, the sensual curve of their hips, the lushness of their lips. She does love girls, she worships them. She'd forgotten about them a bit, absorbed by her work, then she remembered again after Erin joined them. Remembered how it is to crave a woman, ache for her in the most disturbing ways, and how ultimately devastating it is to understand you can’t get close to her. But these ones, dancing in front of her, that’s different. Or all the other ones around here, for that matter. She’s already caught one watching her from the corner. Guess there really was no use trying to fix that hair, huh? She makes eye contact and gives the girl her best Holtzmann smirk. The girl, pretty petite blonde, releases a visibly excited breath and smiles back. It’s on. Holtzmann takes a sip of her whisky, her smile turning slightly more suggestive.

Her attention is momentarily swept away by her team arriving. It’s Erin, Abby and Kevin; Patty apparently couldn’t cancel that family dinner thingy, too bad. Holtzmann and Erin’s eyes connect briefly over Abby’s head and Holtmann’s pulse picks up stupidly, but she pushes the feeling down, hard. She stalks towards the group, grinning widely.

“You made it, awesome,” she gestures them galantly towards the broad coach. “First drink’s on me. What’s your poison?”

“Coca Cola light”, Kevin looks around, positively beaming, “But the manly black version.”

“Figured. Abby?”

“Gin and tonic. Light, too.”

“Gotcha. Dr Gilbert?” she turns to Erin finally, taking her in. Holtzmann’s mouth – predictably, unnervingly – goes dry at once.

Of course, she looks stunning. She’s wearing a plain black dress, with a much more revealing cleavage than she usually allows to show, emphasizing her curves in all the right ways. She has subtle smokey eye make-up and a splash of red on her lips. Holtzmann stares and it must be pretty obvious, because Erin’s face goes red, matching her lipstick, and Abby elbows Holtzmann lightly in the ribs. _Damn_. She snaps out of it, quickly putting on her best casual smile. “Nah, lemme guess,” she cuts in after Erin starts to open her mouth, “An Orgasm?”

That does it. Erin goes even redder, if possible, and gives a nervous little laugh. _Score_.

“Just Margarita for starters. Thanks,” she mumbles and moves over to the couch, sitting down sharply. Her dress rides up a bit and Holtzmann’s eyes follow. She gets another elbow from Abby.

“Holtzy, geez. Hold your lesbian horses, will you,” Abby whispers, half-jokingly, half with genuine astonishment. Holtzmann looks at her sharply and Abby arches her brow. She knows. _Oh god. Oh fuck_.

“Be right back bearing gifts, ladies and gent,” she mutters, feeling a lot less self-assured than a moment ago. Abby raises her brows once again, this time very _knowingly_ , and Holtzmann ignores her, turning around and heading for the counter.

Fuck-fuck-fucketty-fuck… So Abby knows. That’s not good. Is she really that obvious? She orders the drinks, pays and waits while they’re being prepared. She needs to be way more discreet about this stupid infatuation thingy. If Abby noticed, then everybody else might as well. And she can’t let that happen. No one else can find out. _Especially_ Erin. That would be another semi-apocalypse which would surely take its toll on the whole team dynamics. And embarrass her for a lifetime. _Hell no_ to that.

Determined to clean up her act, she takes the drinks and strolls back towards the team, already seated down comfortably and exchanging remarks about the girls. Or, to be more precise, Abby and Kevin are, obviously having loads of fun. Erin is sitting stiffly, as if she’s here by anything but her own choice, and trying not to make eye contact with the dancers doing sensual acrobatics in front of her. One of them is actually just bowing down almost to the ground, presenting Erin with a nicely shaped little ass. Erin’s face goes red again and Holtzmann can’t suppress a snort of laugh as she sits down next to her, in the right end of the couch.

“Relax, Gilbert, “she puts the Margarita in front of Erin, and pushes the other glasses towards Abby and Kevin, “Or the girls here will think you actually _like_ them. They may push it with a little lapdance or something alike.”

Erin’s eyes widen in terror and the rest of the team break out into loud laughter, raising their drinks to toast.

“To that glorious lapdance I would _sure_ like to see,” Abby jokes and takes a big gulp from her glass.

“Mike Hat would love it here, too,” Kevin cuts in, looking very impressed. “It’s so cosy”.

“You guys are such trolls,” Erin mumbles and takes a sip too, squirming on the couch. Her bare, slender thigh keeps bumping into Holtzmann’s and Holtzmann is becoming increasingly aware of that.

She raises another toast, hoping Erin can’t hear her racing pulse. Everyone else in the club sure can. Especially Abby, who is giving Holtz weird looks over Erin’s shoulder every now and then. It’s time to seriously get this shit under control.  

“To my newest baby. Almost ready, folks. I played with the stream power a bit, ‘s much more efficient now, should cut our average bust time in half, give me a few more days and _voilà_! I swear you’ll all just wanna _eat it up_ ,” she drawls proudly.

“Can’t wait to hold it in my arms, Holtzy,” Abby beams and they all drink to that.

“By the way. I think you have a secret admirer,” Kevin points out curiously, nodding to the side. They all follow his eyes and Holtzmann’s realizes he’s talking about the girl that has been checking her out. Holtzmann forgot about her completely, but there she is, still smiling urgently from across the room. And upon realizing she’s got the attention of the whole group, she blushes slightly, but doesn’t lose her cool and waves at them lightly, keeping up the smile.

“Not so secret, is she,” Erin comments matter-of-factly.  Holtzmann turns to look at her, but Erin doesn’t meet her eyes, just takes another big sip of her drink, almost too big to have at once.

“Yeah, well, what can I say. That’s the notorious Holtzmann effect right there for you, girls and boys,“ she winks and raises her glass at the girl. The blonde beams and says something to her friend, taller and brown-haired.

“Well, are you gonna do something about it?” Abby asks expectantly, gesturing to the girl, not so subtly either. “How long has it been, Holtzy? A hundred years? Or at least a hundred busts. What was the last one’s name? Alicia?”

“Maybe,” Holtzmann shrugs, still watching the blonde. She really can’t remember either.

“Alicia?” Erin asks, looking surprised, “You never talked about her.”

“Nothin’ to talk about. That was just a fuck,” Holtzmann says and gets rewarded precisely with what she expected: Erin’s breath catches and she turns her face to look straight at Holtzmann. Surprise, bewilderment, embarrassment, and something else, much subtler and darker, which Holtzmann can’t quite pinpoint. She smirks and takes a sip again, still holding Erin’s eyes above the edge of her glass. She’s starting to feel the first buzz of alcohol, hot and silky in the pit of her stomach. Erin stares back, speechless, and the air between them grows increasingly electric. Holtzmann forces herself to look away, towards the blonde again, now looking as if she’s feeling a bit abandoned. No need. “You’re right, Abs. It’s been way too long. Gonna go treat ‘er,” she stands up.

“I’m going to the ladies room,” Erin says sharply and stands up. She’s gone in one second and Holtzmann turns after her, confused.

“What the-,“ she drawls, but Abby cuts in, leaning over.

“I guess all that gay stuff is a bit hard on her, huh? You know she can be quite the little conservatist,” she giggles and adjusts her glasses,” But hey. I meant that. Go for it. That chick’s clearly into you. And you can’t keep pining over Erin forever, if you know what I mean. She’s straight as an arrow. How serious is it, anyway? Not too serious, is it? Can’t be serious, I mean, you know she’s straight as an-”

“Got it. Straight as an arrow. Are you done with one drink _already_ , Abby?” Holtzmann snaps back with a forced smile and Abby giggles again, then gives a small hiccup.

“Getting there,” she raises her glass and winks, and Holtzmann smiles back, relaxing a bit. She turns to look towards the toilets, but Erin is still gone. With a deep sigh, Holtzmann takes the last gulp of her whisky and stalks towards the girl.  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

The girl is into her, indeed. So much, in fact, that she’s almost losing it, her hands shaking as they twist in Holtzmann’s hair, grab at her back, leave red marks down her arms when they go at it against a wall in the toilet. Holtzmann’s working the girl’s chest, perky little breasts, fitting right into her palms.

“You’re so damn hot,” the girl pants into her ear, pulling Holtzmann closer, “You’re different, I dunno, are you like into science or something? If you are, I dig that too, that’s—,“ she gasps when Holtzmann’s sucks on her nipple extra hard.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she mutters against the girl’s wet breast, but she’s becoming mildly bored already. She thought she wanted this, but it’s not as satisfying (as in distracting) as she thought it would be. Images of Erin are drifting back into her mind, the shocked little look on her face before she stormed off to the toilet, her absurdly delicious red lips, her warm thigh next to Holtzmann’s. Holtzmann closes her eyes and imagines she is doing all of this to Erin and a spike of heat pierces through her stomach, stupid and useless, and then she opens her eyes and steps away abruptly.

“Sorry,” she slurs, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. The girl looks at her with surprise, caught off guard, “Yeah, no, can’t do that. My sincere apologies. There’s… something else, uh, someone else on my mind. And I really need another drink,” she nods at the girl with a contrite smile and steps out of the toilet.

 

*

 

They’re all pretty drunk. Kevin and Abby are playing pool, exchanging absurd jokes and laughing too loud, while Erin is hanging out nearby, sipping something bluish. Her cheeks are flushed from alcohol and eyes a bit unfocused as she watches the game and occasionally makes a comment about it. Holtzmann stares at her from the distance, feeling giddy and frustrated. She can’t really distract herself with anyone else, can she. She’s so hung up on this one. It’s like having this utterly brilliant idea for the most glorious device, but not knowing how to go about building it. She snorts and steers towards the bar to get another drink, this time she downs four shots in a row and turns towards the little group of her companions, strolling over and leaning against the pool table next to Kevin.

“What’s up, kiddos,” she drawls, “Anyone up for another round?”

“I’ve just had four Cokes,” Kevin slurs, frowning, “But I think they might’ve spiked them secretly. Or was it Abby? Anyways, I have to take Mike Hat to a reflexology session in the morning, so I’m good, thanks Jillian.”

“Fair enough. Yates?” she asks, still avoiding direct eye contact with Erin. She’s painfully aware of her standing there, though, and she feels Erin’s gaze on her, blurry but burning.

“Thanks, but no thanks. I think gin might be spilling outta my ears already!  Soooo, how did it go, then, huh? You naughty girls spent a good twenty minutes in there!” Abby asks too loud and fast, wiggling her brows. Holtzmann finally makes herself look at Erin, but Erin’s eyes are turned down now and she’s looking inside her drink intently, a tipsy yet weirdly focused expression on her face, as if the bottom of the glass held answers to all the secrets of the universe. Her shoulders are visibly tense and Holtzmann suddenly desperately wishes that they could talk to each other like they used to, back before Holtzmann realized how badly she has it. She screwed up everything. She’s always been reckless, that’s what everybody says. Reckless, impulsive, erratic. She looks away, tense as well, frustrated and way too drunk. She’s alienated Gilbert and she doesn’t even know how to fix it now. She can’t even fall back on her flirting or teasing anymore, it all just got so out of hand…

“As usual. Just a fuck,” she says darkly, not caring anymore. Her mood changes drastically and all she wants now is simply go home and bury herself in bed. She does just that, excusing herself with tiredness, to which everyone reacts with genuine surprise and tries to make her stay, change her mind. Everybody except for Erin who still won’t meet her eyes. Holtzmann gives up trying to make eye contact, just tugs her collar tighter around her neck and leaves, arriving home twenty minutes later. At her flat she has another drink or two, or maybe three, while contemplating her miserable existence, then passes out.

 

*

 

Next day at work it’s weird again. Everybody’s hangover and the work progresses with little to no success, and it is very clear now that Erin’s downright avoiding her. It’s just an occasional sentence every now and then when she’s forced to do so, but still she’s looking everywhere but at Holtzmann. Holtzmann finds it unnerving and she’s even more confused, wondering whether she really insulted her this much with this whole gay thing, or is it something else? She can’t figure out what’s really behind Erin’s closed off expression, but she can’t talk to her about it either, can she? She attempts a few half-assed jokes to relieve the tension, all in vain. Erin just smiles tightly and goes back to reading her book on the supernatural in the 20th century written by some author she adores. Normally Holtzmann would have already teased her about one million things since they all came in in the morning, but now the atmosphere is visibly tense and everyone seems to be sensing it. Abby keeps throwing Holtzmann questioning looks and Holtzmann just shrugs and then finally she leaves and locks herself up in her lab, but makes no real progress on her work. She’s too distracted, too upset and on the edge. So in the end she just goes out onto the rooftop and leans down against the fence, staring off into space, at the glittering line of skyscrapers in the distance. She feels oddly empty, alienated from herself, which is not normal for her, her usual buzzing energy and creativity all gone and all that’s left is this unsettling sense of resignation. She can’t have Erin as her lover, but can’t have her as a friend either. She clearly put her off last night. She did realize this whole drinking out together in the city thing was a bad idea to begin with, and yet she couldn’t stop herself. As always.

She takes out a pack of cigarettes from her back pocket and lights one up, cupping a hand around it to shelter the flame from the wind. She inhales deeply and leans back against the fence, blowing the smoke out slowly, trying to create circles. It feels good and she relaxes a bit, letting her eyes drift closed.

And then suddenly they get a call from an apparently haunted mansion on the outskirts of the city. The rest is not so happy about having to do a consult while still hangover, but Holtzmann is glad for a distraction. She gears up, puts on her suit and waits for the others by the car, swaying slightly on the balls of her feet in impatience. Soon they’re on their way and Patty’s playing some stupid rap music and humming along to it, but Holtzmann doesn’t really mind, she’s just happy they’re on the move and busy again. She still hasn’t managed to perfect her new thrower, but that’s fine, the previous ones are not that bad either, she built them, after all. She smirks to herself and catches Patty’s eye, they share a friendly smile and Holtzmann even gives a little shake of her shoulders in the rhythm of the song. She hopes the ghost is a real dealio. She could kick some paranormal ass, _so damn gladly._

 

*

 

The mansion is a fine historic building dating back as early as 1878. It rises proudly between old twisted trees among other villas, all neat wood frame and sculpted facade. Holtzmann eyes it from outside, runs her eyes along the well-kept rows of double-hung windows, the spacious balcony, obviously added later in the century, and the lovely high doors which a second later swing open, revealing an elder, friendly-looking lady.

“Welcome and thank you so much for coming,” she says in a hoarse, but warm voice, “I never believed that what happened recently in the city was a mass hallucination. What an absurd idea. So after what’s been going on here I thought I just had to call you, girls. You’re clearly professionals.”

Holtzmann instantly likes her.

The woman invites them all inside and outlines the incidents that have been taking place there lately, culminating in the most disturbing event this very morning, when the apparently angry spirit swung all the knives in the kitchen at her and missed by an inch, witnessed also by her son Jason who was to join them soon after coming back from work. Apparently, the spirit bit him, quite viciously, on his forearm.

It’s obvious they need to investigate the matter more closely.

While they wait for Jason they ask about the history of the building, its previous owners, if there were any crimes committed there prior to her occupancy of the house, if she thinks the recent accidents are related to any specific event. She can’t think of anything in particular; first it was just individual sounds, rattling, banging on the walls, chilly gusts in the house. Then the spirit started to throw stuff, move the furniture and so on. Then, this morning, she really feared for her and her son’s lives. He doesn’t live with her, but comes by occasionally to check up on her, and he just happened to witness the whole thing.

“Can we look around the house a bit, perhaps?” Erin asks her. 

“Of course. Make yourself at home.”

They inspect in groups, Holtzmann with Abby, and Patty with Erin. Holtzmann finds it soothing to put some distance between Erin and herself, she needs it to focus. The house seems calm though, at least for now. Except for the knives, scattered all over the kitchen floor (the lady didn’t touch them after the accident), everything seems to be in order. But Abby senses something with her EMF meter, which starts to beep and flash suspiciously in the general area of the kitchen, where apparently most of the activity is concentrated. Twenty minutes later they are joined by Jason, a thirty-something environmental lawyer who also seems quite disturbed by this morning’s events.

“It bit me, right here,” he pulls up one sleeve of his elegant blue shirt, revealing the mark. It’s purple and tender, and quite large.

Patty whistles. “Man, that is one big-mouthed asshole of a ghost.”

“Please, can you help us? I’ll be most indebted,” Jason says, directing a particularly warm smile in the direction of Erin. She smiles back, blushing a bit.

“Of course. We will try to trap the entity with our energy stream, courtesy of our talented engineer here,” she nods towards Holtzmann and that’s the first time she has said anything like this all day, and they briefly make eye contact and maybe ‘cause they haven’t looked at each other directly like that for what feels like eternity, or maybe cause of the compliment Erin just uttered it feels sharp and intense and it shakes her up like a teenager. Simple eye contact. _God_.

“Great,” Jason says, drawing everyone’s attention again, and stands up from the table, “But please be safe, this is one strong spirit, I wouldn’t want you guys to get hurt,” he adds, glancing at Erin again and she responds with a small awkward smile, cheeks flushed.

“We can handle it just fine, mister,” Holtzmann snaps, unable to suppress irritation, “Now why don’t you take your mother out for a stroll and wait there until we say it’s safe to go back inside, is that much clear?”

“Of course. Thank you again,” he smiles at her. She doesn’t smile back, arms crossed over her shoulders and chin raised defiantly. He leaves, looking a bit bemused. His mother rises from the armchair in the corner and follows him outside, but not before giving the whole group another warm smile. Patty and Abby head towards the kitchen and Holtzmann starts to follow, when she’s stopped by Erin’s dry voice behind her.

“Why are you talking to him like that, he’s just trying to be nice,” Holtzmann turns back with raised brows, happy and surprised by yet another attempt at direct interaction on Erin’s part. Then she realizes the actual content of Erin’s words.

“I don’t need nice, I need cooperative,” she answers concisely.

“I don’t get you,” Erin mutters, frustrated blush on her face. She pushes past Holtzmann, heading for the kitchen too.

“Well, I can’t say I get you either, Gilbert,” Holtzmann snaps, turning to look after her, “I don’t get it how you’re all protective and in a panty-twist over the first dude, _any_ dude, that pays attention to you.”

Erin halts, face shrinking in surprise and hurt, and Holtzmann immediately wishes she could take it back. But it’s already too late – Erin turns her face to the side to look at Holtzmann out of the corner of her eye, voice cold and breathy: “And I don’t get it how you can flirt with me and look at me the way you do and be all about me for days – for weeks actually, ever since I joined the team, and then screw a random girl at a club, and then get all jealous and possessive again for no reason, and then throw it back in my face like you did just now.”

Holtzmann freezes. She stares at the side of Erin’s face, completely at a loss. Erin’s eyes hold hers, glistening with hurt and questions and something else too, something intense and powerful and unexplored, and the moment draws out forever, tense, dangerous, and then she opens her mouth to say something, anything, and then—

“Guys, are you coming?” Abby’s head appears in the kitchen door, “We have a ghost to bust”.  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

The busting goes according to the book. Holtzmann is distracted at first, still perplexed by Erin’s words, but then she gets swallowed by the action and temporarily forgets all about the weird tense little moment the two of them just shared. They manage to trap the ghost which turns out to be a demonic presence that entered the house in an old pendant brought as a gift by the lady’s friend who had traveled recently to India. It became disturbed by being in a new place and liked neither the elder lady nor her son, and least of all it liked America, but it surprisingly spoke perfect English. Busting it is rather easy, but the ghost does manage to leave a few marks on their skin, being particularly keen on throwing, biting and scratching.

It sinks its teeth into Patty’s arm, throws a heavy punch at Holtzmann’s ribs and scratches Erin all over her neck and arms. Still, they manage to put it out and advise the old lady to get rid of the pendant, as it is still radiating sinister energy. She thanks them for good half an hour, offers a few jars of pickles with curry (her specialty) and almost downright forces them to come visit again, if not for a follow up check, then at least for tea. She also adds something about Erin being too skinny, to which Erin reacts with her signature blush and the whole team with a collective snort of laugh.

Her son walks them out to their car and hangs around while they pack their equipment into the trunk. He shakes their hands with seemingly sincere gratitude (and doesn’t notice or simply ignores Holtzmann’s obviously unfriendly grimace) and watches the whole group get inside the car. But at the last moment he stops Erin and they talk shortly, but Holtzmann can’t hear a thing, because the car door is shut tightly and no sound is getting through, hard as she’s trying to eavesdrop.

“Holtzy,” Abby shakes her head disapprovingly and Holtzmann snorts, embarrassed to be caught red-handed. 

“What’s this guy’s dealio, seriously,” she mumbles under her nose, noting the blush on Erin’s face and the guy’s intense look, ”I need to cool down the packs, and I got a few major modifications that I still need to apply to—“

“Why you bein’ so anal about it, girl?” Patty shrugs, fiddling with the radio in search of another “good” song, “They’re obviously into each other, let them fix the goddamn post-action coffee date or whatever”.

Holtzmann’s blood hits her temples and she opens her mouth to snap back, but Abby intervenes quickly.

“I don’t think Erin’s interested. I think she’s just trying to be nice,” she argues in a placatory manner.

“Screw nice. Why is everybody trying so hard to be nice these days,” Holztman blurts, wishing she had her cigarettes on her. Seems like the “talk” is gonna take a while.

“Not you, that’s foooor sure,” Patty points out with raised eyebrows, still leaning over the radio.

“You got it,” Holtzmann drawls, leaning back in her seat with arms crossed over her shoulders. Fortunately, right this moment Erin gets back inside the car, apparently finished with Jason. Holtzmann gives her a dry look, which Erin returns with questioning eyes.

“ _What_?”

“Nevermind. Dude, let’s go go go,” she drums her hands on the back of Patty’s seat and the other Ghostbuster turns on the engine, the car taking off swiftly, “Before they close the stores. Haven’t had my Pringles today.”

Erin is still staring at her, burning a hole in the side of her face, but Holtzmann keeps her eyes firmly on the horizon, where the sun is setting slowly, painting the sky pink and orange.

 

*

 

She tries to stay focused, but can’t. _Again_. She specifically chose not to go home tonight and instead stay at her lab to finally do some work. But it’s impossible for her to think analytically. With her legs on the desk and her goggles pushed up on her forehead, she stuffs more Pringles in her mouth and lets her thoughts drift towards Erin again, stops fighting them.

Oh the sweet, sweet Erin. The impossible, infuriating Erin. Holtzmann still can’t quite comprehend what happened between them in the mansion’s living room right before the bust. They talked, and it was pretty damn intense, that she knows for sure. There was something in Erin’s eyes when she talked about Holtzmann's flirting and jealousy, something primal, something Holtzmann hadn’t seen there earlier. It made her burn inside, made her ache, made her question what it was that Erin really meant. She was clearly unhappy about Holtzmann’s actions at the club, but why? It sounded like she criticized Holtzmann for switching her attention from Erin to the girl and then back again, but why would she feel hurt by that? Why would she voice this hurt to Holtzmann with this strange confused look on her face? Was it possible that—

Holtzmann’s insides light up like a fucking blowtorch and she swallows thickly, almost getting choked on the Pringles that are still in her mouth. Is it actually possible that…? _Naah_. Erin’s straight as an arrow, like Abby said. Straight as they come. Of course women have been known to have trouble resisting Holtzmann’s charms, even the straight ones, but Erin… this just doesn’t make any sense. Could her behavior at the club – storming away to the toilet – and later at the bust, actually indicate in any way her interest in Holtzmann as in… romantic interest? Holtzmann laughs dryly. No, no freakin’ way. _This is absurd and you’re just getting your hopes up for no reason again, you’re gonna get slapped in the face by the cold hard reality like you always do with her, why are you so fucking dumb?_

She turns around in her seat at the sound by the door, so abruptly that she sends all the Pringles flying across her desk and the floor. Erin is standing right there, looking expectant, like she doesn’t know if it’s okay to proceed inside the room. Holtzmann swings her legs to the floor, pushes herself up, eyes wide in surprise.

“Hey,” Erin says softly, hand still on the door handle, “I was just, uh… checking if you’re still here. It’s late. Shouldn’t you go home and get some proper rest? And, uh—,“ she hesitates, eyes lowering to take in all the Pringles lying around, “You should start eating properly. Snacks before sleep? Not the best of ideas,” her eyes flick back up and she looks extremely awkward, like she doesn’t know why she just said what she did and like she suddenly regrets she even stopped by. And there is something else in her eyes too, again, something that is driving Holtzmann’s batshit crazy, because she doesn’t know how to address it.

She quickly swallows the remaining Pringles in her mouth and self-consciously runs her hand through her hair. Shit. She didn’t expect Erin to show up like that, in her lab, past midnight, when everybody else is probably already back home, and comment on her eating patterns like she cares, and—

“Um, yeah, thanks, but I… I thought I’d stay and get some more work done, got some equations I need to work out, thought I’d do that. Snacks help. I don’t sleep much anyway,” she rambles and looks around distractedly, at the Pringles and other random stuff scattered all over the floor, then down at herself, still wearing her suit, but unzipped below her breastline, revealing a white tank top with a few smudges of oil across the chest. She must look like shit. She gazes up and meets Erin’s eyes again, and there’s this weird tense energy between them again that’s both unnerving and exciting and she doesn’t really know what to do with it, with herself.

Erin lingers by the door, unwilling to leave and unwilling to enter, either. She looks tired and there are wound dressings on her arms and neck, but she’s still unnervingly beautiful. She opens her mouth to say something more, when Holtzmann blurts out, unable to stop herself, unable to stand the tension anymore, “So. Did you and the fancy pants manage to fix a nice little play date together? When, tomorrow? Or over the weekend, classically? He seems like the type,” she hides herself behind words again, many useless words concealing her true feelings, her frustration, vulnerability, need.

Erin’s eyes widen and she blushes, looking away. Holtzmann’s stomach drops and she exhales, taking Erin’s elusive look as confirmation of her suspicions. She attempts a forced grin and zips up her suit, taking the goggles off completely as she reaches for her jacket.

“Thought so. Well then, enjoy yourselves. A match made in heaven, aren't you. Both pretty and clearly Republican. Anyhoo, I'm off for more Pringles ,” she heads for the door and pushes past Erin, only to hear her voice call out after her softly.

“Jillian… stop.”

Holtzmann freezes mid-step. She doesn’t turn around, only angles her head slightly, just enough to catch Erin’s eyes. Holtzmann sees her, feels her move closer, yet still linger a meter or two away, and there’s this intense uncertainty radiating off of her in hot, nervous waves, uncertainty and urgency, but about what, Holtzmann can’t dare to guess.  
  
“I… I told him I’m not interested,” Erin says quietly.

Holtzmann turns around and they face each other, finally, just the two of them, in the dimly lit hall just outside her lab. She can see Erin’s eyes glowing, her face flushed, lips parted and dry.

“What? So you’re, uh… you’re not…?” she manages weakly, almost desperately, and instantly feels embarrassed about it. She sounds like a complete idiot. 

“No,” Erin shakes her head and then sighs shakily, “Geez, Holtzmann. You’re brilliant, but sometimes you’re just so _goddamn_ clueless.”

Holtzmann licks her lips, and she has no idea what’s happening here. Her heart is racing like it’s gonna explode, her throat is tight and her brain is straining, trying to latch onto some helpful equations to explain what all of this means, why she’s feeling like she’s gonna die, but at the same time more excited than ever before in her whole life, and why is Erin looking at her like this, like she wants to—

“Look. I’ve been… confused,” Erin goes on, tentatively, eyes flickering down, like she can’t stand the tension, the sheer intensity of their joined gazes, “About myself and… and you. I’ve been pushing down what I’ve been feeling, because… because it’s scary. And because I have never felt like this before. With anyone. And… because you’ve been confusing me even more, looking at me like you have, like you do, and using all that ambiguous talk with me, and I was wondering whether you’re just messing with me or you’re like this with everyone and I’m nothing special, and so I didn't wanna make an idiot out of myself and risk ruining our friendship, and… and then you got interested in that girl—“

“I was never interested in her,” Holtzmann blurts out, throat so dry she can barely speak, “She’s all vapor. I like solid. Or liquid,” she licks her lips again, eyes plastered on Erin’s face. She’s mesmerized, unable to move or think, she’s utterly, completely stripped of her outer shell, her smug talk, her smirks, her identity. All that’s left is this moment, here with Erin, and the naked, raging storm inside her head, her heart.

“Then why did you hook up with her?” Erin asks in a small voice, clearly disoriented by the vapor-solid-liquid example.

Holtzmann swallows thickly. “To distract myself,” she mutters, “You… You don’t make sense, Gilbert. You’ve kept me cutting’ the wrong cables over and over again. I was pretty damn sure you were not interested. You couldn't be, not like that. And I needed to… to get you out of my head, even for a short while-- ” she halts, realizing how much she said, how much she revealed, that there’s no going back now. She takes a deep breath. “You gotta level with me here, Erin. What is it that you’re saying? What do you want from me? Aren’t you… You can’t be—,“ she drifts off again, unsure how to phrase it, and also ‘cause she can’t hear her own words anymore, her own thoughts, over the blood pumping in her veins, her temples. She exhales again, taking a step forward and they meet half-way, because Erin has just stepped forward too, and they’re almost touching now.

A wave of new ecstasy floods over her, brought about by Erin’s closeness, and she inhales sharply, eyes locked onto Erin’s.  

“I don’t know what I am. I just know that I want you. Have wanted you ever since you gave me that first ridiculous wink,” she breathes right across Holtzmann’s lips, her smell – familiar and yet just discovered – filling Holtzmann’s nostrils, drugging her.

That’s it. She backs Erin up, flat against the wall, and after another pause, when she just feeds her eyes with the flustered, steamy look at Erin’s face, _so close_ , she plunges forward and they’re kissing, tugging at each other’s hair and clothes, fighting to cover as much skin as possible – and for dominance, but Holtzmann’s winning temporarily. She can feel Erin’s body against hers, warm and pliable, the soft press of her breasts, the heat of the inside of her thighs around Holtzmann’s knee, the wet urgency of her open mouth.

“Holy shit, whoa _,”_ Holtzmann lets out an impressed puff of air, burying her face in Erin’s neck, breathing her in. She's all senses, all hot rush and pleasure. Her hand pushes down, expertly, and Erin lets out this soft moan, so helpless, so sexy, that it makes Holtzmann’s head spin like Earth across the universe. Erin bucks her hips against Holtzmann’s hand, hard and hungry, and then Holtzmann sobers up, suddenly, and it hits her: she’s gonna fuck Erin here, against the wall, in their HQ in the dark hall right outside of her lab. Like that last girl in the toilet. Like all the other nameless girls that always rolled with her in the sheets but never stayed for breakfast. 

And it won’t do.

She steps away abruptly, panting, her hair even more disheveled than usual and mouth swollen from kissing. Erin stares back at her, eyes unfocused, and she looks so fucking beautiful, so irresistible, that Holtzmann wants to be right back against her, have her again, feel her again.

But she stays put.

“What… what’s wrong?” Erin asks, voice muffled.

“I wanna do this properly,” Holtzmann blurts out, “Not here, where I can’t even see your face, and not in there, in the lab, it’s just a shitload of radioactive blankets, all soaked in oil and ectoplasm, sorry about that,” she steps close again, whispering against Erin’s ear, losing words and syntax, but not caring, “But if you let me, Gilbert, if you let me, I swear I’m gonna make you feel so damn good you’ll regret we’ve waited so long. Gonna make you _explode._ Got a PhD in that,” Erin’s breath catches again and Holtzmann grins breathlessly against the side of her neck (one without the dressing), “But first,” she pulls back again and meets Erin’s eyes, “First, I’m gonna take you out to dinner. All nice and Republican,” Erin laughs and they kiss again, slower this time, more sensual, less urgent, and it’s absolutely mind-blowing.

She wants to ask Erin so many things. When did she realize she liked Holtzmann too, _in this way,_ was she with any other woman before, how did she finally muster the courage to confess, and so much more. But for now she’s just grateful it all happened. Guess Erin got Holtzmanned too, after all. This sort of effortless charm simply cannot be resisted, can it?

 

**Author's Note:**

> Jillian Holtzmann made me pick up the keyboard (so to speak) again after a 10-year interval in fic writing. THAT'S the kind of effect she has on women.


End file.
